An Idiot in Love (a laugh out loud comedy) (27 page)

              I raised my hands, stepped forward. ‘Please, it’s not what it looks like. I’m not really sure
what
it looks like, but I’m sure it looks odd. I just need to use your phone.’

              ‘My phone?’ her voice crackled.

              ‘Just to call a friend, or a taxi.’

              ‘I can do that for you,’ she said unsurely.

              I clapped my hands together joyfully. ‘Excellent,’ I proclaimed. ‘I can give you the number--’

              The door slammed shut.

              ‘Or you could just phone a taxi!’ I shouted through the sealed wood.

              I leant forward, trying to peer through the glass. I could see a smeared form on the other side of the door, it appeared to be hunched over, something pinned to its ear.

              I smiled and took a step back. Admiring the house and keeping an eye on the street for any passers-by.

              I gave Ally enough time to finish the call and then peered through the door again, she had gone. I hopped onto the front garden, crossed the small lawn and peered through the front window. She had the curtains drawn and I couldn’t see beyond the thick material. I tapped on the glass and waited to see if she shifted the curtains, she didn’t.

              ‘Some clothes would be nice,’ I called through. ‘Maybe a drink, I’m really thirsty.’ I waited with my face up against the glass, she didn’t respond.

              I was cold. The alcohol had done a number on my body and now it needed sustenance. I hopped up and down in the middle of the lawn, rubbing my hands together. My bouncing balls would no doubt be an amusing sight to any passing neighbours, but it helped to keep me warm.

              After a few minutes of waiting I heard a car pull up outside the house, obscured slightly by the hedge that ran around the perimeter. I walked down the path, opened the gate and peered out.

              Two policemen were striding quickly towards me. They started and stiffened when they saw me and then, almost simultaneously, they pounced.

              ‘No,’ I objected, standing back. ‘It’s not what it looks like.’

              They grabbed me and pulled me away from the gate and out into the street; before I knew what was happening one of them had strapped my hands behind my back with a pair of handcuffs.

              ‘This is a misunderstanding,’ I said when my rights had been read.

              ‘Like to wobble your bits for the ladies eh lover boy?’ one mocked as they escorted me back to the car.

              ‘It’s not what it looks like!’

              They opened the back door to the car; I felt a hand on the back of my head as they pushed me under the roof and into the back seat.

              ‘Try not to mess up the seat,’ the other said, his face twisted in disgust.

              ‘Wait!’ I called before he slammed the door shut on me.  He dipped back inside, sneering at me. ‘I forgot my leg. Can you go get it for me?’

              They exchanged amused grins, then one of them reluctantly went back to the house to have a few words with Ally. When he returned a few minutes later he was carrying Ashley’s leg and looking perplexed.

              He slid into the passenger seat with the prosthetic between his legs. ‘You want to explain this?’ he asked, looking at me over his shoulder.

              ‘Not really,’ I replied timidly.

15

Doctor Peterson

              They took me to the police station, recorded my name and address, told me I would be questioned and then led me to a cell. They didn’t have the decency to give me anything to cover my nakedness, and they took away the leg. They also took away my shoes.

              ‘Seriously?’ I argued with the woman whose job it was to remove the offending trainers.

              ‘It's the rules,’ she said sternly. ‘No shoes.’

              ‘Why? New carpets?’

              She glanced up at me to show she wasn’t impressed and then continued to remove the shoes. When she had finished she put them to one side and grabbed my elbow, it seemed to be the only place any of them were willing to touch; it wasn’t anywhere near my arse or my penis, the perfect safe zone for them.

              ‘You think I’m going to use them to escape?’ I asked her as she guided me down a dim, cold corridor. ‘Because I’m not that smart, I don’t think anyone is.’

              ‘It’s so you don’t harm yourself.’

              ‘With
shoes
?’

              ‘You could use the laces to hang yourself,’ she said matter-of-factly.

              I stopped walking, she stopped with me. ‘Are you having me on?’ I wondered softly.

              She shook her head.

              ‘You think I’m going to hang myself with shoelaces?’

              She nodded her head slowly.

              I looked into her eyes for a moment, shrugged and continued walking. It wasn’t worth the argument.

              She led me to a windowless cell. A bed rested up against the right side, a thin foam mattress lying on top; a cold sheet draped over. On the other side was a steel toilet with no base and no lid. It looked foreboding and cold. I was happy I didn’t need to use it, and hopeful that I wouldn’t.

              Inside she released my elbow, stepped back and closed the door. The jangle of keys rattled down the empty corridor as she locked. She said a mocking goodbye and then I heard her footsteps pounding the cold corridor floor.

              They left me alone in that cell for a couple of hours. When they finally came to collect me I was wrapped in the bed sheet and curled up on the bed.

              They took me to a small interview room and gave me a very brief and confusing interview. The officer conducting it looked like he wanted to be somewhere else, he rarely looked at me, seemed annoyed when I spoke and rushed through a series of questions like he was presenting a quiz show.             

              I could have put his behaviour down to my nakedness and a potential for shy reserve, but I was wrapped tightly in the bed sheet -- having brought it with me -- and he didn’t look the reserved type.

              After the short session he exited the room without explanation.

              I was left alone to ponder what had just happened and in the silence I decided that I was going to give him a lecture on human rights and police brutality when he came back. It wasn’t strictly brutality, but it was very mean nonetheless and he needed telling.

              I had prepared a little speech in my head, but when the door finally opened and someone stepped inside, that speech vanished, as did every other thought.

              The woman that walked in was not wearing a police uniform, nor was she wearing a smarmy smile that they had all possessed after witnessing me walking naked down their halls. She had a soft face. She was smiling. She was beautiful.

              She had blonde hair, locks of which strayed on her face; dark eyes that caught the light and held a deep intensity; a porcelain face with such neat and small facial features, encapsulated by a tiny upturned nose and whisper thin lips that arched artistically into cupids bow.

              I was mesmerised, awestruck.

              She held out a hand, and offered a smile. ‘Doctor Peterson,’ she said.

              I mumbled something, snapped out of my trance and said: ‘Kieran,’ suddenly not entirely sure that that was my name.

              She sat down opposite and took a folder out from a bag she had carried in with her. I studied her intently.

              ‘So, Kieran,’ she spoke slowly. ‘What brings you here?’

              She was joking, but I answered her anyway. ‘Two guys claiming to be police officers. You?’

              ‘A naked guy carrying a wooden leg.’

              I nodded. I relaxed a little in her presence, but was still all too aware of how nervous and awkward her beauty, and my current vulnerability, made me feel.

              ‘It wasn’t wooden,’ I explained. ‘I think they call them
prosthetics.
’

              She smiled and nodded. Then something clicked for me.

              ‘You said Doctor?’ I noted, leaning forward.

              She nodded, almost apologetically. ‘That’s right.’

              ‘And I’m guessing you don’t have a stethoscope in there?’ I gestured towards the bag which was now on the floor.

              ‘Actually I do, but only for personal reasons,’ she smiled; I glared. ‘Only joking,’ she clarified.

              ‘Oh.’

              ‘I’m a psychiatrist.’

              ‘
Ohhhh.
’

              ‘How does that make you feel?’

              ‘What?’

              ‘I’m sorry, I’m messing with you,’ she laughed softly. She took a piece of paper out of a brown folder and studied it.

              I shifted uncomfortably, pulled the sheet tighter around my torso.

              She looked up at me. The smile had faded; something serious and sinister entered her face. ‘We can’t seem to find any record of you Mr McCall.’

              ‘I exist, I can assure you.’

              She was looking at me but she didn’t seem to hear me. ‘No police records, no health records to speak of.’

              ‘I think I had my tonsils out when I was a kid.’

              She frowned. ‘You
think
?’

              ‘It may have been my appendix.’

              She looked at me intensely for a moment as if she was trying to figure me out, then she blinked and turned away. ‘No psychiatric record is what I mean,’ she clarified.

              ‘Never seen a psychiatrist before,’ I told her. ‘You’re my first,’ I thought about winking, but I didn’t think she was the sort to be impressed by euphemisms.

              She skim-read a few more papers from the folder, turning them over hastily. ‘I see,’ she drummed her fingers against the table top; her nails clicked a scattered tune on the dull surface. She finished reading, the last of the papers tucked neatly into the folder. ‘So, do you want to tell me what happened?’

              ‘It was all a misunderstanding,’ I began, happy that someone was finally going to listen to my side of the story. ‘I slept with--’ I paused, hesitated. I slumped back into my chair again. ‘Why am I seeing a psychiatrist anyway?’ I asked.

              ‘I’m just here to help move things along.’

              ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

              ‘What do you think it means?’

              ‘You like to ask questions don’t you?’

              ‘Do I?’

              I frowned; she grinned.

              ‘You’re checking to see if I’m insane, right?’ I asked.

              She shrugged. She didn’t want to admit it but I was right.

              ‘And if I’m not?’

              ‘Honestly?’ she looked around, cautiously. The room was small, it was obvious no one else was there; it was also obvious that we were being filmed by a whirring camera in the corner; her movements were for drama and effect. ‘You’ll probably get a slap on the wrist and will be out in no time.’

              ‘And if I
am
insane?’

              She leant back, stretched herself out on the chair and shrugged impassively.

              ‘I have to keep seeing you?’ I wondered.

              She didn’t reply, but I sensed a
yes
in her eyes. She pulled herself forward again, rested her elbows on the table tiredly and looked deep into my eyes. ‘So, are you going to tell me what happened?’

              I wanted to see her again, but I knew I couldn’t bring myself to ask her out right now. I was naked but for a government issued sheet, she was supposed to be interviewing me, and we were both in a police station; it was terrible timing and I didn’t feel up for it.               I decided to lie, but tried to play it cool. There was a fine line between being insane enough to continue seeing her and being a crazy stalker who had a tendency to harass women and show up naked at their houses.

              I tripped over that line a few words in.

              I told her that I had obsessed over Ally since the SpeedDate and gone out of my way to instantly find out more about her, following her home that night and then following her from her house the following morning. I tried to stress the part where I won Ally over with my charm, but it was lost in the insanity of following her to the street to arrange a date.

              ‘She phoned you though,’ she jumped in at that point. ‘Why didn’t you just wait until she was in and give her a ring back? Did you
have
to follow her?’

              I shrugged. ‘I guess I wanted to see her sooner.’

              ‘You were keen.’

              ‘Very much so.’

              I told her about the date, how great it had been, how much
fun
Ally had, how much she enjoyed
my
company.

              ‘Ally already gave the police a report,’ she cut-in.

              ‘Oh.’

              ‘She said you tried to follow her home that night.’

              I was glad I wasn’t telling the truth, I was too tired to explain what really happened. ‘I did.’

              ‘You couldn’t bear to be without her?’

              ‘Either that or I wanted to attack her and rape her,’ I joked softly.

              She raised her eyebrows.

              ‘I was joking.’